


Black Tie Affair #3

by somekindofseizure



Series: Black Tie Affair [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, MSR, bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7137143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully as spies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Tie Affair #3

 

Scully rushed out of the building first, the soles of her black patent leather stilettos scuffing the pavement as she dashed into the parking lot.  The night island air hung hot and humid, heaving mist upon the smooth, cool surface of her white silk halter-necked gown. It swished at her shins as she stopped, spun a heel out like an ice skater, trying to stick her landing at the valet stand.  She was used to running in heels, but spy heels were different and she was still getting the hang of it.  

Of course, she would rather get off this detail than get the hang of it.  It was clogging her closet, callousing her feet, complicating her life.  She and Mulder had done nothing so much as fail, so Scully hadn’t the faintest idea why AD Sheila Blevins was so determined to keep them on… on… whatever the hell this division was called.  The jewel and art thief rich criminal James Bond Thomas Crown spy ring division.  Scully had been wrong all these years.  There was something goofier than the X-Files going on at Quantico, and she was now doing it.  

“You’re getting better.  I have faith.  I want to believe,” Sheila had said with a bored sigh as Scully begged to be reinstated.  Mulder threw his hands up and surrendered easily  He was having too much fun playing James Bond.  He was having fun and she was having… orgasms.   _Good ones_ , she thought with mind-boggling guilt.   _007_ finally piped up.

“Why us?”

“Because you’re the best looking agents we have.  You blend.”

“That’s more important than our apparent incompetence?” he asked, attention finally piqued.  This conversation was only getting more humiliating. Scully thanked AD Blevins and sulkily led Mulder into the hall.  Mulder was smirking beside her, kicking his heels out, one hand in his pocket, one holding his jacket over his shoulder.

“This is an honor, Scully.  They could have picked that blonde on two.  And there’s a guy –tall, African American guy I’ve seen on the elevator?  I think he’s in homicide.  Almost had me switching teams.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully said through gritted teeth.  

“Want me to come shopping with you?”

“Have you been renting and re-renting that tux or just hanging onto it?”

“Re-renting.  The others got dirty.”  

She blushed.  Their undercover indiscretions had fortunately not bled into their real lives.  Furthermore, it would not happen again, she swore to herself.  It was a dubious promise to make.

But so far, she had kept her word.  They had gotten through almost the whole party.  She had not so much as batted an eyelash at his neatly parted hair.  He had not so much as placed a hand on her back to open a door.  They had even accomplished the mission, collected the chip.  Now they just had to escape the people who’d seen them take it.

“They’re coming,” Mulder said, glancing over his shoulder into the party.  The valet was fumbling through keys.  “It’s under Bond, I think.”

Scully hastily reached into the valet’s cabinet.

“He’s kidding,” she said, adding under her breath, “And an idiot.”  

She found their keys and jangled them.  Mulder handed the valet some cash and followed her to their vehicle - a shiny, badass motorcycle.

“Did you just give that kid fifty bucks?” she asked.  She hiked her dress to mount the bike and played with the clutch, acclimating herself to it.  The vibration in her palm was both jarring and intoxicating.  

“It’s in the budget.”

“Under what?”

“Being suave.  Spy suaveness.”  He climbed on behind her and raised his voice over the purring engine.  “Why do you get to drive?”

“Because I got on first.  Hold on and stop complaining,” she shouted.  As she hit the gas, he wrapped himself around her like a seatbelt and buckled his forearms.  She glanced down and admired the deep black of his jacket striping her white dress.

“Holding on.  And not complaining,” he said.  His voice was wet and garbled, like someone speaking too close into a microphone.  He had to cover her whole ear with his mouth in order for her to hear him.  She saw red as her curled hair tried to get away from her in the wind.  He plucked a strand out of her lipstick, then turned his head.

“Still there.  They’re driving a green jeep,” he shouted and she accelerated, taking as many turns as she could, weaving through traffic.  Every time she twisted the throttle, she felt a hot rush of adrenaline through her body.  She was so warm she barely noticed it had begun to drizzle.

“You look very innocent in white,” he said.  She tried to shake him off, away from her ear.  But the innocent dress was backless and she could feel the seams of his shirt, the shiny buttons, pressed into her skin.  And then she felt something else press into her.  She took a deep breath.  His erection was less amusing to her than it had been on the first mission, when she’d inadvertently pressed herself against him for too long.  Now she had first hand knowledge of its powers.

“You know, this is why the man is supposed to drive in this situation.”

“I like driving!”

His nose was closer than she expected, and it brushed her cheek as she spoke.  She could smell his aftershave, the crisp dry cleaning chemicals on his jacket.  Her own breath was rummy and when she opened her mouth, the salted air made a cocktail on her tongue.  She slid back a little to feel him better.  Maybe they could keep it to this.

Or this, she thought as he kissed the damp hair sticking to her neck, the breath from his nose tickling the front of her throat.  He lowered his aim to the spot where her shoulder met her neck, then lower to the flat edge of her shoulder.  The tip of his nose traveled back up the slope of her neck back to her ear.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” he ordered.

His arms felt tighter as she breathed harder.  She changed gears just to mask the sound of a little moan.  But he could read her like a book, even from behind, even in the dark.  He could hear her even with the sound off.  

Her dress whipped like a flag in the wind and he tamed it in his right fist, gathering it up and resting it on her thigh as he took the hem up to her hip joint.  The tip of his tongue was like a fresh marker against her back and her body pulsed into the rumbling seat of the motorcycle.

His palm slid up the inside of her thigh and stopped at the cusp of her hip for a moment. She held her breath, sliding against the seat, bare against the leather, now wet, and not from the rain.

He found the precipice where her skin met the leather and must have groaned because she felt the vibration on her spine.  His hand crested the indentation of her pelvic joint, lips parted hungrily against the side of her face as he made wet circles around her clit.  She clenched her thighs to lift herself up and he slid two fingers inside her, letting her sit back down on his hand.  The dress draped over his hand, burying it up to his wrist.

“Fuck,” she said ecstatically into the vacuum of the wind against her face.  “You’re going to get us killed.”

“Didn’t they teach you this in spy school?”  The fingers trapped inside her could do nothing but push, or pull – it was hard to tell what direction as her head spun.  She rolled her hips against the heel of his hand, speeding through the town.  Every block was emptier and more deserted than the last.  She could hear the distant thrum of the other motorcycle, not far behind.

“Oh my god, I’m going to come,” she said, lifting her chin slightly, trying to cap the whirring and spinning at her waist so she could still drive.  

“No, don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?”

He abruptly removed his hand, gripped her tensed thigh muscle with wet fingers.

“Don’t come.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Take a sharp left up there.”  

She sped up and cornered sharply, plunging them into pitch darkness. She felt a bit of primordial panic while her eyes adjusted, but she soon saw that the only company they had were some tall weeds swaying under the island moon. She slowed the bike; there was a scratchy sound as the wheels rolled over the gravel, kicking up dust around their feet.  She was glad her shoes were patent leather – easier to clean.  The engine’s noise echoed off a seemingly abandoned construction project.

“Pull over here,” he said, leading her to the side of a stack of building materials.  He reached over her and turned the ignition off, pulled her hands down from the handlebars.  She heard crickets, maybe frogs as they waited.  She held her breath as the jeep came speeding down the street, passing them by without a second thought.  

She had just barely managed a sigh of relief when he angled her chin up to kiss her. His hands rippled up her stomach and over her breasts.  He looked down at the white dress, now drenched into a transparent grey.   It clung to her curves, the dip of her belly button.

“You were saying?” she breathed, arching her body towards his eyes.  “Innocent…?”

“Tell me you really want to get off this detail.”

“I really want to get off.”  

She hooked an elbow around his neck for leverage, lifting her bottom off the bike.  He unzipped and guided his dick up her thigh, tightening his arms around her, encouraging her to lean back into him.  She gave him her weight, control of the clutch as he sunk her down onto his cock.  She sighed as she reached the bottom of it, her silk-draped ass tucked into the pocket of his lower abdomen.  They held still.  She was wet inside and out, nothing but darkness before her, and nothing but him behind her.

“You’re going to have to do the work, I’m kind of trapped here,” he said.  She grinned and tightened her inner muscles, riding him carefully, the gathered silk pulling across her ass as she dragged it against his clothes. The rain trickled down her chest to where he was pinching her nipple through the dress.

Just then she heard a car that sounded just like the jeep.  It was coming back, though it hard to tell how close with the echo and the buzz inside her head.   She paused, trying to concentrate.

“Very close,” she said, her voice as gravelly as the road.

“Me too.”

“No, the – them, we should stop,” she said, but then grinned.  “Two targets.  Time enough for one shot.  The girl or the mission?”

“Scully.  Don’t quote Bond movies and then stop fucking me.  Please.”  Her heart was beating double time.  Her thighs were trembling from overuse, begging for the reward they’d been promised.

“Say that again,” she ordered, curious to find out how well she knew herself.

“What… Don’t stop?”   

She nodded as her eyelashes fluttered. “Don’t stop,” he repeated forcefully.

“Don’t stop what… _tell me_ ,” she demanded.  She tightened the grip around his neck, placed a firm hand over the one he was using to rub her in tight circles.  His voice was smooth and deep and perfect on his final attempt.

“Don’t stop fucking me, Scully.”  

And she was coming, bucking into his hand and ricocheting back against his body, as he grunted into the arm wrapped around his neck like an albino cobra.  She hissed and cursed at the rain falling into her mouth, the sound of their nemeses’ approach roaring in her ears. (She couldn’t believe she had a nemesis.)  She could still feel the humming of his orgasm vibrating through his chest as he took his hand from under hers and took the gun from its shoulder holster, his trigger finger still wet and hot from her body.

She smoothly lifted herself back into the seat, zipping his fly with one hand behind her and turning the ignition with the other.  He half-turned and fired, shooting out the tires and sending the jeep into a deep skid.  There was only silence and their bike now.

That was it, she thought as she drove.  They had the chip and they were safe.  Mission accomplished.  They might actually get off the jewel thief art heisting spy division.  They were both silent, her arms prickling now that the adrenaline was gone.  She stopped at a traffic light and asked for his jacket.

“Careful, the chip is in the pocket,” he said as he helped her slip her arms in.  She cleared her throat.

“You ever, um, leave things in the pockets when you return a tux?”  

He squeezed her torso to him, his hands rubbing her ribs under the flaps of the jacket.

“Do you want me to?”

“No, of course not,” she said.  “Just wondering.”

“You do so, you want me to lose the chip,” he said.  “I’m that good.”  

She drowned him out with the throttle, glad he could not see her smile.


End file.
